Proud
by Lostliveson4eva
Summary: He'd be so proud of him.


_Just a little one-shot I've been working on for a while. Enjoy~_

She treaded through the long grass, the sun shining high above her head. Its golden rays cast a warm glow over her, causing her to feel the summer heat. A soft wind fluttered through like a whisper, making her white dress sway.

It was a beautiful day out - a perfect day. If anyone were to look at her, they'd see a young woman crossing through the yard. Inside of her, she was broken. Her throat was tight, making it hard to breathe, and she felt as if the world had finally closed in around her. She was crumbling, and it was all she could do to not break down and cry. She kept going though. She had too.

She side-stepped all the stones until she reached the one she was looking for. She stared down at it with tired eyes. She always had troubles sleeping around this time of year.

"Is there anything you want to say?" she asked the little boy next to her. A breeze blew through and ruffled the boy's blonde hair. He shook his head and stayed silent. The whole yard was quiet; sad and lonely.

She didn't take her eyes off the grave as she leaned down and placed a single, white flower there. The little boy stared at the slab of stone, his face grim. She took a deep breath before letting it out. She tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over, but one managed to escape, and she wiped it away before her son could see.

They both stood there staring at the grave as time passed by. They mourned in their own ways. Her tears were finally silently slipping out, and she let them fall freely, unable to hold them back any longer. His face was stone - emotionless. He got that from his father. He was a lot like his father when it came to dealing with loss and emotions.

She cleared her throat and placed her hand on her son's shoulder. He was only twelve, and already he was a fighter. He'd been fighting tears his whole life.

The boy took a step forward and rested his hand on the cold stone. It was gray and dirty, matching all the others around it, but the words were still readable. His golden eyes traced the letters engraved on the stony surface.

_Jace Herondale__  
><em>Shadowhunter<em>_

That was all they put on the grave. She used to wonder if Jace would have wanted them to put "Wayland" instead of "Harondale", but in the end it really didn't matter. He was still Jace no matter what story his grave told.

"Jace," she whispered. Another tear slithered down her face. She took a shaky breath. "We miss you." That was all she could say before she felt herself break. All the walls she had been holding up until this day came tumbling down.

She raised a hand to cover her mouth, the tears slipping around it. She shook with the sobs that threaten to tear out of her.

"Dad," her son continued for her. He cleared his throat, his hand still on the grave. "It's been seven years exactly since you died." His voice was emotionless, but his mother could see through him, just as she had been able to do with Jace. He was just as broken inside as she was. "We miss you so much," he said, his voice finally betraying him. "And we love you." She saw him swallow hard before reaching out for his mother's hand.

Clary stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her son. She ran her hand through his wavy hair, comforting him. He looked up at her, and she swore she saw Jace in his eyes.

"It's going to be okay," he said to her. She nodded and hugged him tighter. He pulled back to look at the grave again, and she kept her arm wrapped around his shoulders. They both stared at the grave, tears in their eyes.

She hated that he had to lose his father at such a young age. Jace was everything to him. They were always together when they could be. And when Jace had to go out on hunts, their son would wait by the door until he returned home safely that night.

And then one day he didn't.

Clary would never forget that day. It was forever engraved in her memory as the worst day of her life.

She wrapped her arms around her son again, and they both stood there, looking at the grave.

"Mom?" the boy asked. Clary looked down at him.

"Yes?" she responded, kissing the top of his head.

"Do you think he'd be proud of me?" he questioned, the tears dry from his eyes. Clary smoothed his hair and nodded.

"Of course. If he were here, he'd look at you and see him. You're a strong and wonderful boy. I see you in him every day, and if he could see you, he'd be the proudest man on the planet."

The boy nodded his head once and sighed. Clary laid her head on his. The sun's heat was comforting on the both of them. Clary closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again.

"Are you ready?" she asked the boy quietly. He nodded and she removed her arms from around him. He turned and smiled at her, and she couldn't help but smile back.

"He'd be proud of you too, mom," he said. She pursed her lips, her eyes glistening, and he grabbed a hold of her hand.

Together they walked back to the city of Idris, hand in hand.

They'd miss Jace, and every year on this day they'd go and visit him in Idris, but they had each other. And that was what was getting them through.

Luke and Jocelyn were waiting for them outside the cemetery. Clary could see them in the distance. The boy dropped her hand and ran to them. She watched him go and couldn't help but think of how proud Jace would have been of him; his strong boy.

And she couldn't help but be proud of him, too.

_Thanks for reading._

_~Lost_


End file.
